


Impossible If You Believe It Is

by eqyptiangold



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Age Difference, Alpha Derek, Alpha Derek Hale, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, BAMF Stiles, Beta Scott McCall (Teen Wolf), Enemies to Lovers, F/M, Friends With Benefits, Happy Ending, M/M, Mage Stiles Stilinski, Magical Stiles Stilinski, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Pack Bonding, Pack Dynamics, Pack Feels, Slow Burn, Spark Stiles Stilinski, Succubi & Incubi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-02
Updated: 2019-08-01
Packaged: 2020-07-29 03:15:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,928
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20075212
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eqyptiangold/pseuds/eqyptiangold
Summary: Peter’s familiar, smooth voice filtered through the cheap speaker. “Stilinski,” he said. “You busy?” Only Peter Hale could make a booty call sound so casual.“I accidentally stabbed myself in the stomach.”“Did you heal yourself?” Peter asked, voice lilting in a way that made Stiles’ lower stomach burn with a pleasant warmth. Derek made a face and left the room.“I’m super injured. I need some sleep so I can get my strength back up before I can-”“So that’s a no?” Peter interrupted brusquely.Stiles snickered and rolled his eyes. “It’s a no.”“Hm,” Peter hummed thoughtfully, before hanging up.





	Impossible If You Believe It Is

It was all too easy for Stiles to collapse to the floor of Derek’s loft, one hand strewn dramatically at his side. Meanwhile, the other weakly pressed the remaining shreds of his ravaged flannel against his bloodied stomach. Before Stiles could mumble his typical one liner that came with every injured entrance into Derek’s loft, the werewolf was at his side. “Remember when I used to be the one that always collapsed in  _ your _ house covered in blood?” Derek asked, his voice gravelly. “I miss those days.” 

“Hey,” Stiles replied weakly, accompanying it with a cough that came across more like a scratchy expulsion of breath. “At least this way you have the wolf-y strength to carry me somewhere else.” Derek scooped him up gently, careful not to irritate the wound. “I don’t know how you spent so much time lying on hard floors with various injuries. Shit’s uncomfortable.” By the time he finished speaking, Stiles was white-faced and sweaty, with cold, clammy skin and an uncomfortable layer of sweat clinging to him.

He huffed out a feeble sigh of relief when Derek delicately placed him in the bathtub. “Spongebath?” Stiles muttered, dropping his head heavily against the porcelain side of the tub. 

“Shut up, idiot,” Derek retorted. Dazedly, Stiles blinked his eyes open to see the werewolf holding his gargantuan red first aid kit.  _ When did I close my eyes? _ Stiles wondered. He blinked slowly at Derek. “Jesus, how much blood have you lost?” the alpha muttered, subtly quickening his movements as he dug through the kit. “What were you doing this time?” 

Stiles saw the question for what it was; an attempt to keep him talking. Maybe it should’ve worried him, but the mage decided to ignore it. “It’s this spell that should link people, kind of,” he explained, voice light and wavery. “So if someone stabs me, they get the wound too.” Derek pulled the flannel away from Stiles’s stomach and replaced it with a bundle of gauze. He held pressure that was just on the edge of uncomfortable, but his veins quickly turned black as he sapped out the pain. Stiles let out a high pitched, blissful sigh. “But if they have healing powers, it’s supposed to give me the healing factor and heal my stab wound, but then their’s doesn’t heal. If I get it to work on me, then I’d eventually be able to do it on other people and pick who gets healed.” 

“That’s…“ Derek trailed off, still clearly uncomfortable with expressing proper praise in the form of words. 

“I’ll just imagine you’re giving me that impressed hand on the shoulder that makes Isaac look dazed and giggly,” Stiles mumbled, letting his eyes fall shut when Derek removed the gauze. “No stitches,” he whined. “I hate stitches. Just smack a bandaid on it and I’ll heal it later.” 

Derek huffed. Stiles figured that the werewolf was annoyed by how often healing changed for the squishy pink humans in his pack. One minute, the werewolf had been forced to learn about medicine and bandages since humans couldn’t heal magically. A few years passed, Stiles began to truly master his spark, and suddenly the squishy pink humans  _ could _ be healed. 

“Fine,” Derek replied, sorting past the thread and needle and locating a large bandage. Carefully, he peeled back the sticky edges that surrounded the soft white gauze and pressed it flat across Stiles’ latest accidental, self-inflicted, magical injury. 

Stiles’ phone vibrated suddenly and Derek’s eyebrow twitched, though his hands didn’t fumble. He finished laying down the bandage while Stiles fumbled through his pocket. The mage glanced at his caller ID before answering. “Hey,” he said cooly. 

Peter’s familiar, smooth voice filtered through the cheap speaker. “Stilinski,” he replied. “You busy?” Only Peter Hale could make a booty call sound so casual.

“I accidentally stabbed myself in the stomach.”

“Did you heal yourself?” Peter asked, voice lilting in a way that made Stiles’ lower stomach burn with a pleasant warmth. Derek made a face and left the room. 

“I’m super injured,” Stiles retorted. “I need some sleep so I can get my strength back up before I can-” 

“So that’s a no?” Peter interrupted brusquely. 

Stiles snickered and rolled his eyes. Absently, he shifted in the bath and rubbed at his thigh. Blood had soaked into his jeans, making them cling to him uncomfortably. “It’s a no,” he confirmed. 

“Hm,” Peter hummed thoughtfully, before hanging up. Stiles didn’t even bother to scoff, reaching over the edge of the tub to drop his phone on the bathmat. 

Glancing at the streaks of blood smeared on the porcelain interior of the tub, Stiles made a sudden decision. He started the fight with his jeans, pulling open the button and zip, and yanking them down his legs in quick, jerky movements. Minutes passed as Stiles tugged and groaned and held back yelps of pain. By the time his jeans were strewn on the floor, leaking blood onto the tile, Stiles was out of breath. 

Panting heavily, he reached for the taps on the tub and switched them on. Water gushed down on his ankles and the teenager was quick to push down the plug on the drain. Without even bothering to reach for the bath bombs that Stiles had coerced Derek into purchasing, he slumped back against the edge of the bath and shut his eyes. “Don’t let my bandages get wet and don’t let your house flood,” Stiles mumbled, putting his faith in Derek’s super-hearing. Within minutes, he was fast asleep. 

-

Thirteen hours later, after Stiles woke up in Derek’s bed while the werewolf quietly read in his desk, he healed his stomach. The familiar itch that came from his skin knitting itself back together barely phased the mage anymore. 

“Thanks,” Stiles said, nodding at Derek as he clambered to his feet. The alpha rolled his eyes, though Stiles decided that he appeared fond. Grinning, the teenager turned and walked backwards in order to continue speaking to Derek. “Watch this,” he said, feigning shock. “I’m going to leave through the front door.” Stiles mimed an explosion from his temples. The werewolf turned back to his book. “Derek, Derek,” Stiles persisted, drawing those indescribable-coloured eyes back to him. “Look, I’m opening the door,” he said, twisting the handle. “No windows involved,” he whispered, feigning a gasp. 

“Get out of my house,” Derek replied, raising his eyebrows. 

“I’m going,” Stiles responded, snickering,“ _ through the door, _ ” he whispered. He slammed said door just before Derek could throw his book at him. 

Once he was outside, Stiles pulled his phone from the pocket of his hoodie. Ever since the mage had started to get frequent injuries, he’d taken to storing some of his clothes at Derek’s loft. With quick fingers, he clicked Peter’s contact. The phone rang five times before the werewolf answered. 

“Hello?” he greeted smoothly. 

“I’m healed,” Stiles said brightly. “Wanna come fuck me?” He paused for a second. “Unless you finally want to let me top?” 

Peter didn’t even bother to dignify that with a proper response, instead letting out a scoff. “Come over in ten minutes,” he said, hanging up before Stiles could reply. 

Typing quickly, the eighteen-year-old texted Peter.  _ What if i take 15  _ he sent. 

Peter replied,  _ I’ll lock the door.  _

Stiles smiled to himself and started walking towards his Jeep, hoping Derek had been kind enough to clean the blood from the seats before it fully dried. _ Like i cldn’t break in _ , he sent to Peter.  _ C u in 10 im driving now _ .

True to his word, Stiles knocked on the door to the beta’s apartment exactly nine and a half minutes later. When Peter answered, he was clad in jeans and a black t-shirt. “What, did you run out of v-necks?” Stiles asked, sliding his fingertips along the collar where it rested in a circle around the older man’s neck. “How am I supposed to recognize you if I can’t see your collarbones?” He stepped further into the apartment and shut the door, finding his way into Peter’s space until their hips were brushing. 

Easily, Peter slid his shirt off and folded it neatly before dropping it to the side. “Better?” he asked, sounding amused. 

Stiles grinned and slid his hands down the ‘wolf’s muscular torso. “Much,” he responded. Smirking a bit, the teenager bent enough to press his lips against Peter’s collarbones. Purely to prove a point, he sucked a few dark bruises into the ‘wolf’s neck while rubbing at Peter’s groin through his jeans. A few weeks prior, Stiles had discovered that he could mix enough signals in Peter’s body so that he wouldn’t heal hickeys. Growling softly, Peter dragged Stiles into his bedroom and pressed him onto the bed. 

They fucked, quick and messy, both too busy chasing their own pleasure to care much about the other’s. Each kiss was a clash of teeth, hands tugging at handfuls of hair. Peter fucked Stiles with no concern for hitting his prostate. Stiles responded by forcibly rolling them and riding Peter until the mage was panting and moaning. 

Stiles finished first, grinding down with a whimpery noise. Roughly, Peter flipped them and thrust,  _ hard _ . He pulled Stiles’ legs over his shoulder and gripped his knees tightly. When his knot pressed into the younger man, Stiles gasped loudly and dug his fingers into Peter’s shoulders. Groaning softly, the werewolf rocked into him until he came. Stiles shivered from the oversensitivity. 

Dropping Stiles’ legs back onto the bed, Peter flopped across the mage’s chest. He pulled a pillow over Stiles’ face and neck, and rested his head on it, prompting Stiles to let out an affronted grunt of protest. “Peter,” he huffed, snickering softly. The beta didn’t reply. “Turn over; let me lie on top,” Stiles bargained, poking at his fuck-buddy’s muscled shoulder. His voice was muffled in the pillow. 

Sighing melodramatically, Peter grabbed Stiles’ hips and flipped them. They both shuddered. Despite the oversensitivity thrumming through them, Peter squirmed in an attempt to pull his knot out of Stiles’ ass. In sync, the pair hissed and shivered. “Be patient,” the mage groaned, smacking Peter’s arm. “If you don’t want to wait, then don’t knot me next time.” Peter hummed non-committedly. 

Stiles dropped his head onto the werewolf’s shoulder. Hardly any time passed before the teenager grew bored. “Can I try to dye your hair with magic?” he asked suddenly. 

“You accidentally stabbed yourself less than twenty-four hours ago,” Peter said flatly. 

“Because the spell I was trying included stabbing!” Stiles retorted, bending up at the waist to make eye contact with Peter. He felt like Ariel on the rock, except said rock was a dramatic werewolf with questionable morals. “I’m bored,” Stiles whined. “Let me try.” Peter levelled him with an incredibly unimpressed look. “Fine,” the mage huffed. “Pass me my jeans.” Careful not to move their hips, Peter reached for the pants and handed them over. 

Stiles dug through the pocket until he located his phone. “Who would look better with blue hair, Derek or Scott?” 

“Please don’t mention my nephew or your lackey while my dick is in your ass,” Peter replied, raising an eyebrow. 

Stiles huffed loudly. “This isn’t even sexual anymore. It’s, like… afterglow, or some shit.” He fired off a text to the pack group chat-- _ some1 lemme dye ur hair w magic _ \--before dropping his phone to the side. “Are you going to the pack meeting tonight?” 

“Mmhm,” Peter hummed affirmatively, his eyes drooping tiredly. Stiles watched him shake himself awake with a small jerk of his head. Shifting carefully, Peter pulled his hips backwards. Stiles gasped when the beta’s dick slipped free. “See you tonight,” Peter said, politely dismissing the younger man. 

“Are you kicking me out so you can take a nap?” Stiles asked, voice light with mirth. Even so, he pulled himself to his feet and started locating all his clothes where they were strewn throughout the room. “I’m taking a shower first. Feel free to join me.” He walked into the en suite, dropping his clothes on the counter and stepping into the shower. 

When Peter didn’t follow him in, Stiles assumed the beta was sleeping in the other room. However, when Stiles re-entered the bedroom, after spending a blissful thirty minutes under Peter’s expensive showerhead, the ‘wolf was still awake despite the clear exhaustion clinging to him. 

“Are you done?” Peter asked, eyebrow raised. 

“Why aren’t you sleeping?” Stiles retorted. Did Peter really have such little trust in people? 

“I will carry you out of this apartment,” Peter warned, prompting a laugh from Stiles. 

“Alright, alright,” he said, holding up his hands to feign surrender. “See you tonight, Pete.” Just to irritate the older man, Stiles pressed a kiss to Peter’s cheek. The beta swatted his ass in response. 

-

When Stiles walked into Derek’s loft a few hours later, large Tupperware in hand, Erica tackled him with a bearhug-- wolf hug? Isaac and Boyd followed her closely. “This whole place smells like injured Stiles,” she explained, burrowing her nose in his shoulder. Stiles hugged the three betas back, resisting the urge to sneeze from Erica’s hair in his face. 

“You reek of Peter,” Isaac complained, pressing his hand against Stiles’ neck to scent-mark him. 

“He’s pack; why should it bother you?” Stiles retorted. 

As if summoned, Peter chose that moment to slip through the front door. Contrary to his usual silent, unnoticed entrance, however, this time the beta bumped into the small horde of teenagers. He looked over them slowly, and raised a neat eyebrow. Stiles absently wondered if the intimidating werewolf plucked them. Before he could act on the urge to ask, Peter seemed to grow bored with the standoff and brushed past them. 

“Hello, Nephew,” Peter said, his voice drifting outwards from the living room. Stiles bounded in after him and plopped his Tupperware container onto the coffee table, grinning at the sight of his two favourite Hale’s seated on the Ikea furniture and looking like proper functioning members of society. Grinning and waving at Derek, Stiles headed for Peter. The beta was settled on an armchair, his lap looking open and inviting. As Stiles settled into his fuck-buddy’s lap, a smirk settled across Peter’s features and Derek heaved out a sigh. Stiles sat sideways with one leg comfortably bent up, his knee supported on the armrest, while his other foot hung loosely between Peter’s slightly spread legs. He had one arm over Peter’s shoulder, whilst the older man had his own arm loosely positioned around Stiles’ back. 

Erica and Boyd walked into the living room soon after and they followed suit, settling down onto a loveseat and cuddling against one another in a mess of limbs. Isaac trailed after them, making a face upon catching sight of the PDA. “Where’s Scott?” he whined, adjusting his scarf. 

“Him, Lydia, Jackson, and Allison are coming,” Derek replied, drawing in Isaac’s complete attention. The younger ‘wolf dropped down onto the L-shaped sofa alongside his alpha. 

“Is Kira coming?” Stiles asked. A responding  _ mmfhm _ sound came from the general direction of the kitchen, followed by the clumsy smack of Kira’s feet as she stumbled into the living room. 

“I’m here!” she said brightly, though it sounded more like  _ I’mf ‘ere _ through her mouthful of what looked like marshmallows. In her hand, Kira held a ridiculously big bag of the aforementioned sugary treat that appeared to be already missing a quarter of its contents. After taking a moment to finish chewing, Kira spoke again-- this time, in a voice that could be understood without difficulty. “I helped Derek go grocery shopping for this month’s supply of snacks since Stiles was busy getting his ass rammed,” she said brightly, brandishing the marshmallows. “D’you guys wants some?” 

“I spent a few hundred dollars for only a month of snacks?” Derek asked, managing to look dejected, resigned, and accepting all at once. 

“You’ve seen Stiles eat Doritos, and he’s  _ human _ ,” Kira reminded. “You’re feeding a literal pack of wolves.” Derek merely sighed, slumping on the couch. 

“We love you, rich daddy Derek,” Stiles chirped. The alpha chucked a throw pillow ( _ Derek Hale _ owned  _ throw pillows _ ) at Stiles without any remorse when the rough cushion bounced off his face. At the same time, Peter seemed to grow bored and pressed his hand in between Stiles’ legs. When the mage let out a high pitched noise, it was not only from the impact of the pillow. Peter smirked. 

Before Stiles could enact his revenge, against both Hale’s, the door flung open with a jarringly loud bang. Accompanying the slam came a chorus of voices, sounding like the last missing pack members. Scott bounded in first, accompanied by a much calmer Allison. Lydia and Jackson followed the other couple, their hands comfortably bumping against each other. 

Making easy conversation with the pack, the latest arrivals settled in on the remaining seats. Scott considered the armchair next to Stiles, before making a face at the sight of Peter’s hand nestled comfortably in the space between his legs. Valiantly ignoring the growing smirk that Peter donned, Scott dropped onto the chesterfield sofa alongside Lydia and Jackson. Meanwhile, Allison delicately settled down next to Isaac and Derek. Stiles watched as Kira glanced around for only a moment for sprawling over the second armchair that Scott had rejected, one of her legs thrown over the armrest and the gargantuan marshmallow bag rested on her stomach. 

Settling her gaze on Stiles, Kira spoke up. “I heard you got stabbed?” she asked casually, with an edge of lazy curiosity. 

Smiling a bit, Stiles nodded. “Luckily, I had Derek over there to fumble with some bandages,” he quipped, extending an arm to grab the fallen pillow from earlier and tossing it back at the alpha. Derek snatched the pillow out of the air with an irritating amount ease, and he bared his teeth with a playful growl. 

“Aw, li’l Dr. Derek,” Erica chimed in, grinning mischievously at the alpha. 

Peter distracted Stiles from the banter that was slowly building amongst the pack; their smaller side-conversations were coalescing into one. The beta rubbed Stiles’ dick through his jeans, prompting Stiles to roll his eyes even as the teenager leaned in to mouth at Peter’s neck. 

“Stiles,” Derek huffed, and he pitched the pillow back across the room. He didn’t look bothered in the least when it hit Peter as well. “We’re talking about the incubus problem,” Derek said, seeming to have gotten the pack under control enough to keep the pack meeting on track. 

“Are we sure it’s just an incubus?” Stiles replied, quickly finding his focus even as Peter continued the motion of his hand. 

Erica raised an eyebrow, leaning forward with her elbows on her knees. “What do you mean?” she wondered. Glancing around quickly, Stiles saw that the rest of the pack wore similar, curious expressions. It quickly put a small itch of insecurity through him; it seemed so obvious to Stiles, but maybe that was because he was dead wrong. 

Peter scoffed suddenly. “It’s obviously more than just an incubus,” he said flatly. Despite the expectant pause that followed, Peter didn’t bother to elaborate. Fuelled by the admittedly brilliant beta’s agreement with his suggestion, Stiles spoke up. 

“Well, the victims all come back with wounds,” he started. “Bruises or cuts might be normal, just from the incubus, but a lot of them had stab wounds or broken bones.” Stiles slowly gained confidence as he spoke. Peter had yet to interrupt, so the teenager figured he couldn’t be too far off. “An incubus would have no reason to stab someone or break bones, since they purely feed off sexual energy. They seduce their victims and drug them with aphrodisiacs. No proper violence involved.” 

“I thought incubus victims usually died if they get fed on too much,” Lydia said. She generally did just enough research to know what they were up against, but left the rest to Stiles. Although her grades seemed to reflect a higher intelligence, no one could quite compare to Stiles’ research capabilities. 

“Yeah they do, but not from injuries like that. They die without any outward physical proof; like injecting air between someone’s toes,” Stiles explained, accidentally elbowing Peter as he gesticulated wildly. Lydia nodded understandingly. At the same time, Peter grew fed up with Stiles’ waving limbs and removed the teenager from his lap with a gentle push. Without sparing even a single thought for it, Stiles settled down on the floor, cross-legged. “These victims have wounds and they’ve all come back alive.” 

“So far,” Derek muttered. 

“Always such a downer,” Stiles quipped. He reached blindly behind the armchair until his fingers brushed the pillow that he and Derek had been trading blows with. Struggling to aim from his spot on the floor, Stiles lobbed the pillow at his alpha. “If the incubus is smart enough to find someone to work with, in theory, then he would be smart enough to know better than to kill anyone. A string of exhausted people waking up in hospitals with vague memories of going home with a really hot guy is easier to excuse than a string of deaths.” 

“How do you know they’re working together?” Allison piped up. “Maybe something else is getting to the victims after the incubus. They’re usually passed out for hours after it feeds, right?” If the occasional fluttering of her irritated gaze between Peter and Stiles was any indication, Peter must have been rolling his eyes and making that face. It was the judgmental one he wore whenever anyone in the pack said something that he considered to be a horrifying display of stupidity. Save for Derek and Lydia, anyone in the pack was generally at risk for his scathing looks. Stiles figured that those two were only immune to make up for some of what Peter had done to them in the past. It probably helped that they rarely said anything worthy of the Look, since Stiles himself had never been on the receiving end. 

“It’s really unlikely that anyone would bother stalking an incubus just to injure his victims,” Stiles said, shrugging. 

“Alright, so we’ve got an incubus working with someone who likes beating the shit out of people?” Kira summarized, raising her eyebrows. 

“Not beating them up, exactly,” Stiles said, thinking back on the police reports he’d snuck from his dad. “The injuries seem more… strategic than that, and less random. I’m not sure.” 

The pack theorized for awhile after that, with Stiles calmly explaining the flaws in each theory while Peter tossed out the occasional scoff. Slowly, the suggestions grew more and more ridiculous until the serious discussion had transformed into just another regular group of friends hanging out. By the time the sun sank low into the sky, Stiles’ stomach hurt from laughing and he’d somehow ended up sprawled across the floor with his feet up on Kira’s lap. The pillow that both Stiles and Derek had familiarized themselves with was tucked under the teenager’s head, though his throwing arm was still vigilantly at the ready. 

As Stiles laughed particularly hard at something Boyd had said--the quiet ‘wolf was surprisingly funny when he wanted to be--his eyes landed on Peter’s chair. The seat was vacant, any traces of the older beta having vanished. Thinking back, Stiles realized that Peter’s voice hadn’t hit the air for the past hour or two. Shrugging easily at the man’s disappearance, Stiles tuned back into the conversation where Erica was sharing a particularly funny anecdote.   
  



End file.
